Written by the Survivor
by dorkomatic
Summary: Catherine reflects on the events leading up to her son's death. Mash pairing with some Frary. Warning: Character Death/Suicide


Written By the Survivor

Rated T

Warning: Character Death/Suicide/Foul Language

Mash, some Frary

Catherin reflects on the events leading up to her son's death

Disclaimer: I do not own reign or any of its characters. I am not making any profit on this work of fiction.

Nostradamus was never wrong, or so I thought. Ever since Mary first arrived at court He had been whispering in my ear prophesies of my son's death; of Mary's involvement. My mind was filled with thoughts of death. I was tormented with nightmares, a thousand ways she would kill him. I saw him dying in battle to protect Scotland or to take the English thrown. I saw him killed by English assassins. I even saw Mary murdering him. I never imagined it would happen the way it did. I never suspected my own hand in the death of my son. Nostradamus was wrong. It was never Mary.

Looking at my son's corpse lying cold and lifeless, it was easy to blame Mary. I plotted her death. I prepared the most painful of poisons. In the end, I was only successful in scaring the young Queen back to her country with her lover in tow. That Bastard. Had Nostradamus predicted Sebastian's role in my son's death, maybe I could have stopped it. Maybe my son would have had a chance at happiness. But in the end it was not the bastard's fault either.

The day that Mary ran off with the bastard to avoid her wedding was the beginning of the end. She allowed her attraction for Bash to grow into something more. It was no surprise she would be swept up in his kind eyes and soft heart. She found in him a love and dedication she would never have from Francis. Francis was a prince, a king, he would never be able to put Mary first. He could never be "just a boy." It was also no surprise she would never be able to let the bastard go, even after she married my son. What was a surprise was that my son could not let her go either. He was relentless in his love for her. A love that Mary cultivated and invested in until the day I told her of the prophesy.

Their marriage was not easy. It was slowly torn apart by the strain of politics, war, and infidelity. Mary's discretion hid her affair from the court, but not from my son. My son's heart broke anew every time Mary would secretly visit the bastard's bed. He turned to mistresses to ease his pain. His eyes lost the sparkle of youth and love. It was replaced with the dullness of depression. Even so, my son could not bring himself to end their marriage or end the bastard. He could never kill the man who was so important to his beloved. He knew he would lose her forever if he did. He held on to the hope that one day she would love him and only him.

On my son's last day of life he and Mary fought about his decision to put France before her. He had chosen to withdraw all French support of Mary's bid for England. I even helped him forge letters and plant evidence that would blame the whole thing on Mary's rebel supporters. Queen Elizabeth believed it and France was saved from her wrath. It was not an easy decision for Francis. He knew that this decision would put Mary at even more risk, that it may someday cost her, her head. He _had_ to put the needs of France above the needs of his Queen. He was a true king.

Mary confronted him and told him that he was no longer the man she fell in love with. The crown had ruined any chance they had for happiness. For the first time, she spoke aloud to him of her love for Bash and her regret that he was never legitimized. She could see now, that if she had Bash at her side, England could have been hers. Her greatest mistake was loving Francis in the first place. She told him that just as he was relentless in marrying her, she would be relentless in ending their marriage. They never were, and never will be, "just a boy" and "just a girl."

While Mary and Sebastian were planning his safe escape to Scotland and her intentions to join him there once her marriage was annulled, my son was dying. After the argument he had visited my chambers to seek my council, the comfort only a mother could give. I was not there. Instead he found a quill, parchment, and poison meant for Mary. I came upon him hours later, his body stiff and pale with death. Blood was drying where it had poured from his ears. His final letter spoke of his eternal love for Mary. He believed life would not be worth living if he did not at least have the hope of Mary's love.

In that moment I wanted to blame Mary. I wanted to blame Sebastian, Henry, Nostradamus, anyone. But the truth is it was no one's fault except my own. If I had never tried to ruin Mary or prevent their marriage my son would be alive. If I had never told her about the prophesy, my son would be alive. If I had laid my head on the chopping block and allowed the bastard to become King my son would be alive. If I had been there when my son needed me….

Mary and I agreed no one could ever know the truth about his death. It would mean that in the eyes of the Catholic Church he would forever be condemned to hell for this mortal sin. He would be denied proper burial. His memory would forever be marred by his final decision. Even Mary did not wish that for him. Europe already believed my son was a small sickly boy. It was not difficult to convince anyone he died of an ear infection. After all, history is written by the survivors.


End file.
